


Heartland

by doctor__idiot



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2017 [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, M/M, Rimming, Slightly dubious consent, Somnophilia, Supernatural Kink Bingo 2017, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 23:42:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11747610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: Maybe he’s finally gone crazy from lack of sleep, the memory of burning heat still fever-hot in his mind.





	Heartland

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [SPN Kink Bingo](http://spnkinkbingo.tumblr.com) square "Somnophilia".
> 
> I'm probably too tired to write and post this now but eh, whatever. I imagine this to be an alternate beginning to 1x03 "Dead in the Water".

Sam wakes up in a motel room that’s familiar in the way all motel rooms across the United States of America are.

He remembers that they checked in yesterday, or he thinks he remembers, he’s still wading through the remnants of his dream, a nightmare of fire. Stares down at his black-charred fingers. Blinks until they look normal again.

Dean is breathing softy in the bed next to his, never more than three feet away, blanket kicked down to his feet. Bare back and legs, skin-tight boxer briefs hugging the curve of his ass, and Sam reaches out. Brushes fingers along the dip of Dean’s spine.

Dean stirs, sighs. Seconds rattle on as signaled by the grubby old clock on the wall.

“I love you,” Sam says to the sleeping form, croaky-voiced and thick, “I want you.”

His body dips the mattress next to his brother’s hip. He stokes his fingers farther south, ghosting along the line of Dean’s waistband.

Snuffling, a sleepy hum. Dean presses his cheek into the pillow.

Sam kneels up and over, settling his weight on the back of Dean’s calves, the tickle of fine hairs gold-dusting Dean’s legs against Sam’s own naked skin.

Maybe he’s finally gone crazy from lack of sleep, the memory of burning heat still fever-hot in his mind, sweat on his forehead, and he leans down, palms against Dean’s sides. His mouth finds the length of Dean’s spine, feather-kissing every vertebra.

Fingers peel back Dean’s underwear to reveal pale, freckled skin. Dean shivers, shifts again, tilts his hips.

Sam’s breath is warm and damp against Dean’s skin as he nuzzles the dimples right above Dean’s ass. Mouths the swell of it, thumbing apart the cheeks with sure hands. Kitten-licks all the way down to the fleshy furl of Dean’s hole.

Dean’s hip twitches. He makes a small sound way in the back of his throat, half-muffled by the pillow. Sam digs his fingers in as hard as he dares.

Another shiver.

Dean’s hand knocks against his, reaching blindly, unaware, and Sam gently pushes it away until Dean loosely curls it into the bedspread.

Sam is moving slowly, lazily, head still foggy from dreaming and too little sleep, surrounded by Dean’s smell that’s he’s gone without for too long. Gunpowder and cheap soap and petrichor. He licks him open with a patience he hasn’t possessed in years, spit-wet drag along Dean’s taint, down to where the smell of him is stronger, sweat and musk mingling.

Thumb pressed against the weakened resistance of Dean’s entrance, Sam kisses around his own index finger, slipping in the tip of it.

Stuttering clench around his first knuckle. Dean moans quietly, a shudder across his skin. Flex of his fists.

He’s wonderfully pliant against Sam’s efforts, little dream-caught movements, angling up into Sam without the advantage of being awake. He’s warm and soft like he rarely is, no tension in his shoulders, only the occasionally ripple of muscles under his skin where Sam touches him.

He’s two fingers deep, agony-slow, not thrusting, just gently stretching, and Dean moans again, turns his head to the other side. Facing Sam.

Sam brushes fingers along the shell of Dean’s ear, feeling him flinch slightly at the ticklish sensation before settling down again, blowing out a breath. His eyes are moving behind closed lids.

“I want you,” Sam says again, fingertips a whisper against Dean’s cheekbone. Flutter of his lashes.

More saliva, one more finger, second knuckle. Dean jerks. Doesn’t wake.

“Beautiful.” Thumb-rubs against Dean’s pink rim while he works his fingers slowly in and out, gently twisting back and forth. Another twitch. Murmuring.

He strains up, mouth against the back of Dean’s shoulder. “Love you,” he repeats, withdraws his fingers. A sigh.

Dean hums, _‘am?_ Then, “Christ!” when Sam carefully pushes into him, no condom, nothing between them, “What––? _Shit._ ”

Fingers twisting in the sheet hard enough to turn knuckles white, Dean bucks up, autopilot, into the fold of Sam’s body, bringing him flush with Sam’s groin. They both moan. Dean trembles.

Sam tugs him in and up, naked back against naked chest and Dean gasps in surprise, not yet rid of his sleep haze. He reaches back, digs blunt nails into Sam’s sides.

Head falls forward. “Jesus, Sam.”

 _Mh-mh._ Sam kisses his neck, the dip of his shoulder. Pulls back.

“What’re you––?”

It’s too easy to manhandle Dean like this and turn him onto his back, still not all the way awake, useless muscles and slow reflexes. He blinks up at Sam, too green eyes and slack mouth.

Sam sinks his cock back into him. Scramble of fingers against his chest, _scritch-scratch_ ing his sternum, stinging his skin. Dean breathes, “Fuck.”

Legs hiked high up around Sam waist, Dean arches, hips meeting Sam’s and Sam can torture his prostrate better like this. Dean sobs, begs, "Say it again, please, say it again.”

Sam hooks his elbows under Dean’s knees, bends down. “I love you.” Always true. “I want you.”

Hiccup. “Harder, Sammy, God–– _oh!_ ”

He reaches for Sam’s shoulders, unsteady grip slipping on sweaty skin, and Sam snatches Dean’s hands away, presses them above his head into the pillow, fingers slotting together. Dean’s bottle-opener ring bites into his knuckle.

Dean whimper-moans with every rock of Sam’s hips, quivering abdominals and punchy breaths. He gasps, “Kiss me, Sam, please, just––” and Sam bites Dean’s lip, licks copper out of his brother’s mouth.

Fingers clenched, Dean fights against Sam’s hold around his wrists, straining up and being pushed back down, a wounded sound falling from his lips. Sam shushes him softly. Kisses him deeply.

Heat pooling in his stomach, fire-spike at the bottom of his spine, Sam groans against Dean’s tongue. Let’s go of him. Arms go around his shoulders, fingers in his sweat-damp hair.

“Good, so good.” It’s a whisper against the side of his face, almost lost in the snaps of his hips, hot telltale spill inside of Dean, and Sam can feel himself tremble. A hand between their bellies, Dean moans, jerks against him as Sam’s palm finds heated hardness, stroking, savoring those little _ah ah_ breaths that break free from between Dean’s teeth.

Dean hums contentment. He tugs Sam down farther, sticky squeeze around his back, knees bumping up against Sam’s ribs.

He opens his eyes. Voice scratchy-used, “Mornin’.”

Synchronized grins.


End file.
